


That twisted feeling

by gooseontheloose



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:28:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24725272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gooseontheloose/pseuds/gooseontheloose
Summary: Davey knows it’s wrong. He knows it’s disgusting, and depraved, and that he’s going to hell, just for the shameful way he looks at Jack, like he’s a man in a desert, and Jack is an oasis on the horizon.He knows it’s wrong, but he can’t seem to help himself.Davey kisses Jack for the first time. Jack does not kiss Davey back.
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly
Comments: 19
Kudos: 96





	1. Chapter 1

It’s been a remarkably uneventful day, all things considered. Davey quite enjoys it, especially after all of the excitement of the strike. He’s sold his papers, no more or less than usual, he’s sent Les home, and now he’s sitting with Jack, dangling their feet over the edge of Jack’s ‘penthouse’, staring at the city skyline. Jack’s talking about Santa Fe again. Davey had sort of hoped that he’d drop it, after everything that happened, but Jack’s a dreamer, and Santa Fe, or at least the way Jack describes it, is the most beautiful dream of all.

“And then on Sundays, you’s lay around all day”

“If you’re so desperate for a day off, just become Jewish. Every Saturday we get to lay around.”

“You do’s?”

“Well, we used to. But now money’s so tight, we need all the work we can get”

Jack smiles at him, sort of sadly, but not with any pity.   
“Well when we’s get to Santa Fe, you’s can lay around all day on Saturday instead.”

“We? Am I invited to the ‘city made of clay’?” It’s ribbing, but never mocking. Santa Fe isn’t just a place to Jack, isn’t just a pipe dream. It represents so much more, and only someone truly awful would belittle him for that.

“Course you’s are, as if I’d leave you’s behind. What would I do without you’s?”

Davey gets that feeling again, where it’s like his heart is in his mouth, and his stomach gets all clenched up in knots. He feels it when he’s around Jack. Every time Jack slings an arm around his shoulder, every time Jack throws back his head and laughs at a joke, every time Jack does something kind, or considerate, or vaguely fatherly for the younger Newsies, Davey gets that twisting feeling. He’s also noticed that sometimes, just looking at Jack’s face is enough. Just a glimpse of those big brown eyes, reflecting the moonlight, that tawny skin, with a faint splattering of freckles, that lopsided grin. Just a glimpse is enough to twist Davey all up in knots.

He knows it’s wrong. He knows it’s disgusting, and depraved, and that he’s going to hell, just for the shameful way he looks at Jack, like he’s a man in a desert, and Jack is an oasis on the horizon.   
He knows it’s wrong, but he can’t seem to help himself.

Especially now, when it’s late, and he’s tired from a days walking, tired from a day of heckling and bartering. When he’s sat so close to Jack that he can feel the heat radiating off him, when their legs swinging in the night air keep almost tangling together (and getting as twisted up as Davey feels). Especially now when Jack is saying things, sweet, wistful things. When Jack is saying things that make it seem like Jack needs Davey just as much as Davey needs Jack.   
Davey isn’t sure where the sudden burst of confidence, the sudden burst of insanity comes from. But one moment he’s sitting stationary, all twisted up, and the next moment he’s twisting round and surging forward, and his lips are pressed against Jack’s. And for a moment, or for an eternity, he’s kissing Jack. He’s kissing a boy, he’s kissing his best friend, his kissing the person he maybe loves. And for that moment, it’s okay. It’s all going to be okay. Jack is close, just like Jack is always close, and their breath is mingled together, and it’s okay.

He doesn’t live inside that moment for very long. Because when his brain catches up with his mouth (his nickname really is fitting), he realises that Jack is just sitting there, unmoving, frozen against him. And when he realises that, he realises what he’s done. He realises that he just kissed his best friend. And now his best friend knows he’s a queer, and his best friend isn’t kissing him back.

Then all at once, everything slams into motion again. Jack recoils, and Davey feels this sharp, stabbing pain, which is almost electric, spreading across his face. It leaves him reeling, dazed and confused. But even in his puzzlement he realises what happened. Jack punched him. Jack didn’t kiss him back, and then Jack punched him in the face.

Oh. This is probably the worst thing that could’ve happened. He should’ve controlled himself, should’ve repressed it all like usual. He closes his eyes, clenching his jaw hard. He really shouldn’t have done that. It’s like his head is all scrambled, because he feels like he’s underwater, all of his motions lagging behind his head, and none of his thoughts are making sense. And then he becomes aware of the fact that he’s still sitting on the fire escape with Jack. He can’t look at Jack. He doesn’t want to see the way Jack is looking back him. Doesn’t want to break more than he’s already broken. Even so, he can feel that they’re still closer than they should be, closer than is acceptable, especially now that Jack knows. Oh g-d, he knows. 

Jack starts to say something, but Davey can’t even hear him, with the blood pounding his ears, all he can hear is the beat of his own heart. The twisty feeling is gone, replaced with something more feral, something more fearful. And then he’s on his feet, and he’s running. It’s fight or flight, and he’s chosen the latter, being the coward that he is. He’s stumbling back through the lodging house, ignoring the voices of the other Newsies, the concern laced in their voices. They wouldn’t be concerned if they knew what he was. He runs until the ache in his legs matches the ache in his nose (which matches the ache in his heart). He’s two blocks away from home, when he stops, leaning over to retch in the gutter.

This is the worst day of his life. He thought the twisted, painful pining was bad. The watching Jack from afar and knowing that he would never be his, that that could never be them. But this is worse. The pain of rejection made physical, evidenced by the blood, drying tacky on his face. The pain of Jack knowing, of everyone knowing by now, who Davey really is, what Davey really is. How twisted and sick and depraved Davey is. He can never go back. He knows that the beating will be much worse next time. The only reason Jack didn’t get him properly, didn’t teach him a real lesson, was the shock of what Davey did to him. Davey wants to turn back the clock, wants to make it right again, he wants to scream and beg and cry, he wants to curl up in this gutter and die.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do, doesn’t know how he’s going to explain to his family that he can’t go back, he can never sell a newspaper in Manhattan again, let’s face it, he can never sell a newspaper in all of New York again. How he’s going to explain to his family that he’s ruined everything, and he has no one to blame but himself.

“What happened to your face?” Sarah asks bluntly, after he’s let himself in. It’s late enough that even his parents have gone to bed, so he’s not really sure what she’s doing up.

“Nothing. It’s fine.” He replies through gritted teeth. He hasn’t yet looked in a mirror, but he can feel the blood, crusting up, all the way down to his chin. He is very much not fine.

“No David” she grabs his chin and pulls him into the light, prodding at his nose with gentle fingers. He hopes there’s no permanent damage. He likes his nose the way it is. “Who did this to you?”

It’s the pain, and the fear, and the sudden weariness that makes him say it. If he was in a better state, he could’ve come up with a convincing lie. “Jack.”

“Jack as in Jack Kelly?” She seems shocked. She wouldn’t be shocked if she knew what he did.   
He nods, wincing as her fingers brush against the slowly forming bruise. “I don’t understand. Why would he do that? I thought you two were friends.”

“I—” he doesn’t know how to articulate it. He doesn’t want to articulate it. “We just got in a row, you know how it is.”

“I don’t know how it is David. Your nose is broken, this isn’t just some petty quarrel.”  
He bats her hands away, stepping backwards, and offering a small smile.

“It’s fine Sarah. I’m fine. It’s all fine. It’s great actually.”  
He makes it back to the room that him and Les share before he starts crying. He doesn’t stop until the early hours of the morning, when sleep finally catches up with him. 

He doesn’t go to work the next day. His parents don’t push it, but he can tell from those sideways, sympathetic looks they keep shooting his way, that Sarah might’ve let slip what is going on. Or at least, what she thinks is going on.   
And he needs to get a grip. He needs to stop wallowing, because he brought this on himself. It’s his own lack of self control, his own recklessness, that got him into this mess. He’s lucky he only got a broken nose out of it. He’s heard stories about queers in the city getting a lot worse for doing a lot less than what he did.

They’re eating their meal in the evening, with Les chattering away about how many papers he sold, and how one of the other kids was doing something stupid, when he turns to Davey.

“Jack was asking about you.”

“Oh yeah.” Replies Davey cautiously. Sarah shoots him a strange look, and Davey suddenly becomes very interested in his vegetables.

“I said you was poorly, and he said he hopes you’s get well soon!”  
Davey isn’t really sure what to say to that. Isn’t sure what Jack’s intention was, in saying that. Isn’t sure if there’s a hidden meaning, he hopes Davey gets cured of the sickness inside himself which makes him want to kiss other boys, or whether Jack is just being polite. But then again, he was never one for niceties.

And then Les asks, “What happened to your nose?”

And Davey realises that he didn’t see it yesterday, on account of him being in bed by the time Davey got home, and he didn’t see it this morning, on account of Davey being too busy wallowing in self pity to get himself together and actually provide for his family, so his ten year old brother had to do it instead.   
“I fell.”

Because he can’t explain to Les that Jack did it. Not when Les idolises and looks up to Jack, like he’s some sort of hero. And he can’t explain to Les why Jack did it. Not when Les sort of looks up to Davey as well, in a roundabout way.   
Sarah manages to change the subject, which is good, because Davey can tell by the look in Les’ eyes that he doesn’t believe him. Either that kid is smarter than he looks, or Davey worse at lying than he is at being normal.

Davey sets out to work the next day, but he can’t bring himself to go the whole way. He can’t bring himself to face everyone. Face the consequences of his actions. He doesn’t want Les to see what they might do to him, even if Jack does hope he ‘gets well soon’. He sends Les ahead, and tries not to feel too guilty as he wanders aimlessly around all day, avoiding the corners and blocks that he knows the Newsies frequent. He needs to get it together, he really does. Les can’t be the only man in their house working, not at ten years old.

That evening, Les stays quiet during dinner, which is unusual. He also keeps shooting Davey strange, lingering looks, which is also unusual. It really puts Davey on edge, because all he can think about is why. Why Les would be looking at him with that strange, distant look in his eyes. What Les has heard today. Davey is just scared that Jack’s told everyone. Of course he’s told everyone, why wouldn’t he? And of course Les knows. Davey hopes that Les doesn’t hate him, which is a stupid thing to hope, because even Davey hates Davey right now.

Just before Les goes to bed, there’s a knock on the door.   
Davey’s parents exchange a look, because they aren’t expecting visitors, and they know better than to open the door to strangers in the night. Les doesn’t know better, because he bounds over, and pulls it open.

“Jack!”  
What. What is he doing here? Davey’s brain explodes with the possibilities. Jack’s here to punch him again, harder this time. Jack’s here to tell his family about the filthy queer they have living under their roof, breaking bread with them. Jack’s here and the police aren’t far behind, and they’re going to arrest him and throw away the key, because being a queer is wrong in all senses of the word.   
“Hey kid.” Jack ruffles Les’ hair, in this brotherly, familiar gesture.

Davey can’t move, he can’t think. He just stands there, in full view of the doorway, staring at Jack. Just standing there, staring at him, like the queer he is.   
It’s Jack who breaks the silence. “Hey Davey, can I’s have a word.”  
He doesn’t sound angry, but there’s this underlying emotion, one that Davey can’t quite put his finger on, but that makes him overwhelmingly nervous.

Davey can sense Sarah standing behind him, he knows that his parents are likely listening in as well. He can’t very well refuse Jack, not when he’s come all the way here. Not when he knows Davey’s biggest secret, one which probably isn’t a secret anymore.   
“Of course.”


	2. Chapter 2

As they step outside, the cold air is bracing. It calms Davey slightly. It isn’t fresh, nothing in this city is _fresh_ , but it’s crisp, and it makes him feel slightly less like he’s about to faint.

Jack doesn’t look at him, and they walk an entire block in silence. Davey can’t help but note the gap between them, far wider than it’s ever been. Usually when they walk, Jack’s arm is slung over his shoulder, Jack’s so close that the sides of their bodies occasionally brush together. Now they’re on opposite sides of the pavement, and Davey can’t tell if it’s Jack’s doing, or his own.

Davey decides to be the first one to speak. “Jack, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

Jack cuts across him. “Naw Dave, I’s the one who should be’s sorry.”

What. What? Why would Jack be sorry. He just did what every self respecting man in New York would do. This isn’t his fault, this whole situation, it’s a prison of Davey’s own making. What’s that old saying that his mother loves? He’s made his bed, and now it’s time for him to lie in it.   
“Why?”

“’Cos I punched you’s?” Jack replies incredulously. He comes to a halt, turning to face Davey, and staring at him intently. It takes a moment, a twisted moment where Davey’s breath catches in his throat, to realise that Jack is in fact looking at the bruise on his nose, and not his lips. Davey really needs to get a grip. He’s already done enough damage. Why would Jack be looking at his lips anyway?

“You got me pretty good.” Davey means it to come out jokingly, means to show Jack that he’s still the same guy, even with the unspoken fact hanging in the air. Instead it comes out sad, like a part of him is shattered, broken beyond repair. And that’s probably the case. “I understand why, don’t worry.”

That makes Jack angry. Davey sees the subtle shift in him, the clenching of his jaw, the way he furrows his brow, just slightly. He probably shouldn’t have reminded him. Shouldn’t have given him a reason to get angry all over again. It strikes Davey that they’ve stopped just by a darkened sidestreet, that Jack could easily soak him right now, and leave him there, out of sight, and no one would be any the wiser. Davey would like to think that he’d never do that, not ~~his~~ Jack. But he also thought that Jack would never hurt him, and the bruise on his nose is evidence enough to the opposite. That combined with the look in Jack’s eyes? Davey doesn’t even know him anymore. Being a proper queer really changes things.

“I’s in the wrong here Davey. I shouldn’t of hit you’s.” Davey really doesn’t understand what’s happening. Doesn’t understand how Jack can hit him one day, and then less than two days later, be staring at his with this strange, raw look in his eyes. “I’s think it was like a reflex”

A reflex? Of course it was. The gut reaction, the gut response, to something like Davey is disgust. The gut response is visceral and painful.   
He laughs, but there’s no humour behind it. There’s no humour behind any of these. Not when the both of them are so clearly walking on eggshells. Not when Jack has Davey’s biggest secret and Davey has bruises the shape of Jack’s fists on his face. And he’s not sure why he says it. It’s just that the whole situation is so confusing, and the way that Jack is speaking doesn’t make any sense to him. Maybe he just needs to get back some sense of clarity.   
“I’m a queer.”

“Yeah I guessed as much”. Jack doesn’t sound angry, not anymore. He’s giving Davey that same sad smile, on the knife’s edge of pity, but not quite crossing that line. It’s a nice smile. Nicer than Davey deserves.

“Did you tell everyone?”  
It doesn’t need to be answered. Davey knows that he did. He must’ve. Maybe he’s a masochist, he wants to twist the knife, salt the wound. Wants to hear it said out loud.

“Course I didn’t, who do you’s think I am?”  
Davey used to know the answer to that question.

“I would’ve. They deserve to know who they’re hanging around. A filthy queer like me? They shouldn’t have to have anything to do with me.”

Jack scoffs, and gives him this exasperated look. “Don’t say things like that.”

“What? It’s true. You found out I was a queer and you broke my nose.”

Jack lifts his arm, bridging the space between them. His fingertips brush over the bridge of Davey’s nose, and Davey hates himself for flinching.   
“I’m really sorry David.”   
The use of his full name makes him feel sick to his stomach. It’s so suddenly formal, and it confirms to that broken part of him that he’s lost Jack forever. Even though Jack is saying sorry, even though Jack is touching him tenderly, ~~like a lover would~~. He wonders again, what is wrong with him for even thinking that last part. He’s lost Jack forever, because what kind of man would be friends with a queer like Davey.

“It’s okay.”

“No it ain’t”

Jack stares at him, for a long lingering moment, and Davey can’t even begin to try and understand what he’s thinking. He’s so weighed down with self-pity and self-contempt, like clots in his arteries, that he doesn’t even quite feel real anymore. It’s more painful somehow, seeing Jack up close. It’s more painful knowing that this is probably the last time he’ll ever see Jack, because even if Jack isn’t looking at him as if he hates him anymore, Jack still doesn’t want to be his friend, Jack still doesn’t want to be around Davey, not any more than Davey wants to be around Davey. He just hopes that Les is still allowed to sell papers, hopes Jack doesn’t not-want-to-be-around Les by association.

Jack cocks his head to the side slightly, as if he’s considering something. He looks so beautiful in the dim light, he looks beautiful in every light. And goddamn it, this is why Jack can’t be friends with Davey, because Davey can’t just be fucking normal, not even for one damn minute.   
Davey’s so caught up in his thoughts, breathing raggedly, that he isn’t expecting it. He wouldn’t have been expecting it, not even if he was stable, and well rested, and not coming apart at the seams. He wouldn’t have expected it because it doesn’t make any sense. Because this time Jack is the one who surges forward, closing the gap between them. Jack is the one pulling him into the alleyway. Jack is the one kissing him. Jack is kissing him. And after a moments delay, where Davey’s brain is disconnected from his body, Davey is kissing Jack.

When they finally break apart, from the mess of tongues and teeth, Jack smiles him, almost fondly. He can barely even make out Jack’s face, with how blurry his vision is.

“Now s'okay.”

And Davey doesn’t think he’s ever been so confused in his life. Things around him keep happening so fast that he feels like he has whiplash. Jack hated him, Jack hit him, and then Jack kissed him. He can’t untangle it, not when everything is twisted up now, not just his insides. He’s half convinced that this is some elaborate prank, meant to truly break him. Half convinced that Race and the other boys are about to leap out of the shadows and beat him to a pulp.   
But there’s something about the way Jack is looking at him, suddenly vulnerable, this sudden rawness and humility in his eyes.

“Wha-?”

“Davey ‘the Mouth’ Jacobs is finally speechless” Jack teases him, with that same fond smile. He’s scared, just slightly. There’s a tension in his shoulders, a quiver in his voice which are different from his usual impenetrable exterior.

“I don’t understand. I thought you hated me.”  
Davey knows his voice is shaking, much more than Jack’s. Maybe it’s because he has more to lose.

Jack’s face gets all scrunched up, as he considers Davey’s words.   
“I neva hated you's. I hate-hated me, but neva you's.”  
It’s stilted and soft and broken. It’s like a confession, like a prayer, like a plea.

“I think I know what you mean.”

And with that soft confession lingering in the air, and their breath leaving misty smudges in the night, Davey wonders if it’s possible to be this happy and this sad simultaneously.

Jack breaks the silence.   
“Now is you's just gon stand there, or are you's gonna put that mouth of yours to use?”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and let me know what ya think!

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and let me know what you think!


End file.
